cortachurrosyup

[lets-go-hurt-someone]

I like to think they’re listening to 10 hours of lo-fi music on youtube

[alwachart]

Happy Halloween!

Day 2 - Classic Horror moive AU

I couldn't choose one villain/movie so I did all the classic horror monsters instead. I recommed looking at the picture on full screen. Reference used under the cut. Can you tell I'm a fan of spooky season?

Prompts by @bg3villain-halloweek

Universal horror classic monsters poster. Extra lineart bcuz I like it

[leopardmuffinxo]

🔔 wedding night 🔔

[forkingbrusselsprout]

[dark-and-kawaii]

hi hello beloved me again .. consider this :

ascended astarion and raphael using you while you’re tied up .. idk if you write ascended astarion stuff but i think your style would be amazing for AA

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ Bound & Used

─ Pairing: Ascended Astarion - Raphael x F!Tav/Reader (separately)

─ Content: NSFW - Belly Bulge - Knotting - Bound/Tied Up - Ascended Astarion Is His Own Warning - Blood - Cunt Eating - Biting - Finger Sucking

─ Notes: Oh yes!!! I haven’t written for Astarion in a long time but I’d be happy to fulfill this request!!! I mean who doesn’t want to be absolutely fucked senseless by a mean Vampire and a Devil?!?!?!

─── Raphael ───

You only thought you were coming here for a drink, to celebrate and unwind with the Devil you came to know. What you didn't expect was to be tied up to his grand bed by the end of the night, his hot breath caressing your ear, and his deep, dark voice telling you all the deliciously naughty things he plans for you.

Your face was flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, and your damp hair clung to your face as his cock bullied its way deeper into you. It wasn't even his girth or length that left you feeling so full and stretched, but the ridges that ran the underside of his cock that made every thrust feel so incredibly intense and amazing. It almost felt like he'd split you in half from how full you felt, and yet your hips jerked back to meet him in every thrust.

“T-tease my tummy mn'more, pl-please!”

Raphael chuckled, his own sweat covering his infernal body, “Such an eager little pup~”

He brought his large clawed hand to your stomach where he could see the outline of his cock through your abdomen and pressed down on it, “So impatient.” The devil groaned before bucking his hips at a much more rapid pace, his knot pushing past your lips, spreading and stretching them so nicely- threatening to tear you apart. His hand continued to tease your tummy, stroking his shaft through the taut skin as his tip began to push further into you-

You whimpered as he did so, feeling your insides being rearranged by his fiendish cock until you cried those delectable tears that he oh so adored. 

Another sharp thrust is all it took to force his knot into your hungry depths…

“Ah- Nyhooo~ Yo-You're gonna brreakk meee fo-for real~” You writhed beneath his large crimson frame, your arms tugging against their restraints, the cuffs rubbing your wrists raw, “Raaaphaelll~~~”

And that's exactly what he planned to do. Break you, shatter you, mold you into his perfect toy and lover, make you a slave to his cock, his scent, and his touch.

“You're mine…” He growled lowly, his hand moving away from your belly so that it could cup your chin, turning it so that he could look into your eyes. Those charming, tearful eyes…

“Y-yes!” You gasped out as he pushed himself deeper, his knot making it impossible to pull out.

“I'm the only one who gets to do this, am I not?” His hand squeezed your face, his claws digging into the tender flesh of your cheeks and chin, and yet you loved every moment of it.

“Ye-yes! I'm yours! M'Yo-yours to use-use~”

“Good pup.” Raphael purred, a toothy smile on his face.

A pathetic whine left you at the sound of his praise, and you squeezed your eyes shut when his tail began to tease your clit again.

“O-oh, FUCK!” Your entire body trembled and shook beneath his.

The devil leaned in close and let out a low moan, his hand sliding away from your face so that his thumb could run over your quivering lips, “Go on, let go,”

You did.

With a high pitched cry of his name, you did, and you were met with a flood of his cum spilling deep into you- the feel of his cum filling you up to the point of overflowing past his delicious knot, and it was so, so warm... You could feel how it sloshed around inside of you with every jerk of his hips,  and how the tip of his cock kissed the entrance to your womb…

You wanted more.

More.

More.

“Pl-please-e…” You whimpered out, looking up at him, a weak smile on your lips, “M-more…”

You were his. Body, mind, and soul. You were Raphael’s little mouse~ His perfect obedient little pup~

Raphael's tongue slid out of his maw and lapped at your tear stained cheeks, the tip teasing the corners of your lips, “There's only one voice you shall listen to now.”

His knot was still firmly buried inside of you, keeping his cum locked tight in your cunt, his seed filling you so completely, “Say it,” He hissed.

“Y-Your voice~ My devil~” You whispered softly, a blissful expression on your face.

─── Astarion ───

The vampire lord keeps you locked away in his room, bound to his bed with vermillion silk ribbons, away from his spawns and servants. You're his queen, his lover, and his most prized pet... Your life now full of nothing but pleasure.

“Ah-starion! W-wait!!! S'too much!!!” Your body was littered with bruises and bites, your plush thighs painted in a crimson hue from the gashes his nails and fangs left behind- your body spread wide, revealing your wetness and clit to the vampire who was buried between your legs.

Astarion didn't seem to care, your words falling on deaf ears as he continued to feast on your cunt, licking and biting, while two fingers curled into you, rubbing along your inner walls. His nails dragging ever so slightly along your sweet spot, drawing a long moan out of your mouth, one that was cut off by another gasp when he pressed his tongue against your clit, “I-I can't!!!”

“Darling, if I were you I wouldn't speak so loud... My spawns will hear you.” His tone was playful, “Or is that what you want?” a mischievous grin pulling at his lips as he looked up at you- your glossed over eyes meeting his own, a deep crimson that reminded you of the blood that was dripping from your thighs... Those eyes that once held actual love for you, but now only held hunger, lust, and possession... 

As he licked his lips slowly, his long red tongue ran along his fangs that glistened in the candlelight… The same tongue that was inside of you just moments ago...

You always loved the sight of his fangs when he smiled. And how they clashed with his cheery face... How they once felt so good, scraping along your skin and sinking into the crook of your neck or inner thigh... But now, it was a burning pain, over and over he would sink his fangs into you until he was pleasantly full. 

Your eyes darted away from him and onto the ribbons that bound you to the bed- the ribbons that seemed to get tighter each time he made your back arch... You wanted to be disgusted by his words- by his actions, but despite how horrible it was at times, and despite you missing the old him between your legs... 

“Astarion- P-please Ah-I want-need you inside…” your voice was quiet, shaky, but his keen hearing could pick up even the faintest whisper.

“You always beg so nicely for me darling.” You bit your lip at his words, “But I don't think you've had enough fun yet~” He cooed, a finger gently stroking your cheek, the pad of his thumb pressing against your lips, “Be a dear and open your mouth for me, won't you?”

You did as you were told, opening your mouth just a bit wider, allowing him to push his thumb past your lips and against your tongue, “Now be a good little thing and suck.” Astarion hummed, and you did as you were told, your lips wrapping around his thumb and sucking gently.

“Such a good girl for me…” His other hand never left your sopping cunt, his fingers moving faster now, the sounds of your wetness echoing through the room. He was still smirking, his gaze focused on you and the way you moved underneath him, the way your eyes fluttered as your tongue wrapped around his thumb, “Just like that.” He whispered, “Maybe I should have my way with these pretty lips again? Just to see those lovely tears fall down your cheeks once more…” he hummed.

Slipping his thumb out of your mouth, he watched as a small trail of saliva connected his thumb to your lip before it broke. Astarion pulled his fingers out of you, earning a soft whine in return, “Look at the mess you've made of my hand.” pulling his fingers from you and holding them up, the pads of his fingers slick and shiny, the digits dripping with your juices. “be a dear and clean it.”

“i-”, your breath was shaky as you opened your mouth once more, the vampire taking this opportunity to slip his fingers into your mouth, humming in delight when he felt your tongue lick and suck them clean.

Your face contorted in disgust- your stomach churning as you tasted yourself, his fingers pushing further into your mouth making you gag.

“A-ah! there it is.” he chuckled, the tone in his voice was sickening, “What's the matter? Don't like the taste of your own cunt?”

Your eyes darted to him once more- glaring, but the look only amused him more. Astarion pulled his fingers from your mouth, the string of saliva running down your chin, “pl-please! jus-”

His knee pressed against your aching cunt, rubbing against it roughly, your voice cracking mid sentence.

“Gods! fu-PPLEAASE-” your words were interrupted by the sudden pressure on your cunt- a moan escaping your lips as he rubbed harder against you, “S-stop teasing me please!!!”

“But we've barely started my love. You want me to fuck you, but I'm enjoying the show too much.” He cooed, a smile crossing his lips as he continued to rub against you, his eyes never leaving your body, his knee jamming into you- a soft whimper leaving your mouth.

“N-no more teas-ing ple-please!!!” your hips bucked up, a silent plea for more as your arms shaking uncontrollably in their binds.

“Oh darling, we've only just begun”

A scream of pain ripped through the air- the sound of flesh ripping echoing through the room as Astarion sank his fangs into soft tissues of your breast. His teeth digging deeper, causing you to scream louder- tears welling in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks.

Your head fell back against the pillows, another scream leaving your lips. It hurt. It all hurts. It was too much. Your cunt was throbbing, your clit aching as his knee dug into it... The feeling was almost euphoric- the pain and pleasure mixing together like a drug...

His tongue lapped at the wound, drinking every last drop of blood that flowed from it, a satisfied groan leaving him...

You tried, you really did try to stay conscious- to hold on just a bit longer- to fight the drowsy feeling that began to wash over you, but soon your eyes fluttered shut and your body went limp.

It's okay though…

You'll awake again- to the feeling of dried blood and cum on your skin and a vampire between your legs.

[emperorsgf]

bg3 minor characters + minor arcana

[sorceresssundries]

What about Gale with a barbarian tav 👀 Im struggling to feel not insecure about my tav being a barb haha

Not to worry, anon! You should not feel insecure! Welcome to my TED talk about how Gale deserves the fierce love of a barbarian.... ..

Gale, who at first sees a barbarian's approach to problem-solving as 'brash', and thinks himself as the more intellectual and superior.

Gale, who has had his head in the heavens for so long, he's lost sight of what it's like to live in the moment.

Gale, who realises he actually has a weakness for strength, and sweat, and musk, and mortality.

Gale, who supports them when strength and emotion don’t provide all the answers, talking through the hard decisions and being there to hold their hand when they get things wrong.

And a Barbarian, who helps him feel things he’s kept bottled up, showing an unwavering loyalty and faith in him that he never thought he would deserve.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

hihi!! Can I request Astarion with someone who has ptsd? Maybe him trying to comfort them or something? As someone with it I usually just keep it to myself lol

Hiiiii sorry I took forever to answer this. Sending you virtual hugs alongside this fic, hope it makes you feel just that little bit better. Here's your vampire comforter!

It's kicking in again. The weakness you try so hard to hide from everyone else, afraid of the ostracisation you're sure will follow should they know of it. You feel your throat constrict, wheezing as you struggle to suck air into your lungs. Your vision is a blur, your mind racing and your body is frozen to the spot.

You hate this. The feeling of blood freezing in your veins, the inability to move, to fight back, it makes you feel completely helpless and being completely helpless is never a good thing. Your heart hammers in your chest, blood roaring in your ears as you struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Your throat is dry, flashbacks tearing your mind apart and you barely feel your body tip forward but something, no someone, catches you before you hit the ground.

"Falling for me again, darling?" His honeyed words are muffled, ringing in your ears. Your skin prickles where he touched you and you pull away quickly, curling into a tight ball. Clapping your hands over your ears, you try to drown out the voices, whimpering hoarsely and suddenly, your throat seizes up. Your lungs scream for air but no matter how fast you breathe, no air makes its way into them.

You're going to die. You're going to die. You're going to die.

"Darling, focus on my voice. Find me, like you always do." A quiet gentle voice cuts through the haze, reaching out to you from beyond the veil. You strain your ears to pinpoint where it's coming from, the voice familiar.

Astarion.

That singular thought drives you forwards, grasping in the direction of his voice.

"That's it, darling. That's it. Keep going, you're almost there. Don't forget to breathe, you still need that air." His voice is strangely comforting, even with all the teasing. With an unusual gentleness, he guides your breathing, whispering reassurances into your ear.

"I'm right here, darling. I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you alone to face this."

When your vision swims back into focus, it's just you and him. You're huddled on the ground, knees pressing against your chest while he sits on said ground next to you. His eyes are filled with concern, a hand resting on your back.

"Darling?" Astarion murmurs.

"Star —" You rasp, devolving into a fit of coughing. He panics for a moment, fumbling for a flask of water in his bag and thrusts the flask into your shaking hands. You struggle to open the flask, still trying to calm yourself down and Astarion leans over, opening the flask for you. All snark is gone, replaced by genuine worry and seriousness as he watches you gulp the water down.

Once the flask is empty, he holds out a hand and you place the flask in it. He puts the flask down and holds his hand out again.

"Take my hand when you're comfortable," he says softly, and silence falls over the both of you. You slowly reach over, feeling his cold fingers gently curl around your hand and tug you towards him. Wordlessly, you sink into his embrace, feeling the tears start to prick the corners of your eyes.

Astarion tentatively wraps his arms around you, relaxing only when you press against him. He buries his face into your hair, hugging you tightly and traces random patterns on your skin. You bite back the tears, gripping his arm but a whimper still escapes your lips anyways and you feel your vampire lover curl around you, gentle kisses pressed against your head.

"It's alright, no one else is here. Let it all out."

His words are enough to burst the dam and you find yourself crying into his chest, clutching at his shirt as each wail tears your body apart. You've never allowed yourself to cry like this before, but this feels…cathartic, and knowing that your lover is right there for you to lean on only serves to comfort you further. Your tears stain his pristine shirt and you babble an apology, voice thick from crying but he hushes you, stroking your hair in an attempt to comfort you.

He holds you close, a hand resting on the back of your head as the last of your cries fade into sniffles, gently rocking you as he hums a lullaby he thought he'd long forgotten. The lullaby's words are lost to him, but the tune alone helps you calm down, and when you next look up at him with puffy eyes, he smiles at you softly.

"Feeling better, darling?" He presses a kiss to your forehead, gazing at you with a fondness you never knew he had in him. He gently wipes away the tears that have fallen, cradling your cheeks in his hands and presses his forehead against yours. You reach up to rest your hands on his, basking in the quiet comfort of your vampire lover.

"Yeah," you croak out. "Feeling better."

He nuzzles you and you lean in, inhaling the familiar scent of bergamot, rosemary and brandy. Your arms wrap around his waist, holding him close. You feel him rest his head on top of yours, and the both of you simply stay like this, embracing each other until the sun dips beneath the horizon and the stars come out.

"Stay a little longer, please?" You whisper, feeling him shift.

"Of course, darling," he whispers back. You smile, a wave of relief washing over you at his words. He wasn't going to leave you, he didn't see you as a burden, he was choosing to remain by your side.

Letting out a deep breath, you look up at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "thank you."

"Anything for you, love," he purrs.

"I mean it. Thank you for not abandoning me, for staying with me through all…this, for…for everything really." Your words catch him off guard and the tips of his ears turn red. He huffs, trying to pretend that your words didn't affect him and gives you a peck on the top of your head.

"I'm only doing this because you did it for me," he mutters, hiding his face from you.

"Doesn't mean I can't thank you," you chuckle, brushing his silvery white locks aside so you have an unobstructed view of his face. He lets you catch a glimpse of his shy smile, fangs peeking out and you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his lips.

"I love you."

He blinks, startled at your confession and splutters, struggling to find a suitable response. You simply smile at him, giving his hand a squeeze and his cheeks flush, but he returns the gesture and continues holding onto your hand tightly afterwards, refusing to let go.

The both of you may be broken, shattered by the past but it doesn't mean you can't try to put the pieces back together, with each other's help. The scars will forever remain, but they don't have to define either of you, they don't have to control your lives, and they don't have to separate you from him.

You know that no matter what, he will stay by your side, even on the bleakest of days, on the days where your past tears you apart, and you vow to do the same for him. As you walk back to camp holding his hand, you make that silent promise and unbeknownst to you, he makes the exact same promise. He won't ever let you feel like a burden, you won't ever let him feel alone. He won't ever leave your side, you won't ever let him fight alone.

He will love you with everything he has, and you will love him with every breath you take until the end of days.

[hella-amberpricefield]

Baldur's Gate 3

[perotovar]

RIVER 🍃 gloomstalker ranger/circle of the spores druid

wood half-elf | 52 y/o | they/them | neutral good | sage | halsin ♥

[obsessedwhyyes]

A Tale of Fools and Tricksters (1)

Chapter 1: Whispers of Hope

Summary: The Festival of Fools - a carnival of magic and illusions which shall set your heart ablaze and bring your dreams to life. Legends say that the Festival of Fools will grant one wish to those pure of heart and soul - for a price. Seeking a cure for the Curse of Stone which plagues her people, Elysia Thorne seeks the aid of the festival's enigmatic ringmaster, Astarion Ancunin, whose charm is as dangerous as it is irresistible.

But as their fates intertwine, it becomes clear that all is not as it seems...

Rating: M Chapter Word Count: 5479 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC Content: Alternative Universe (Circus), Ringmaster Astarion, mild horror elements, eventual smut, eventual romance, basically a big whimsical (slightly dark, slightly trippy) fairytale of an AU.

A/N: And here we have my first ever longfic! I'm actually a teensy bit nervous about this one! While the direction and story are different, I was actually inspired a lot by Hunchback of Notre Dame for this. I always loved how it managed to be both incredibly dark and beautifully whimsical. So, going into this, I knew that's the vibe I wanted to go for. Hopefully you enjoy!

The applause faded like dying stars, yet the dream remained, vivid, unyielding.

The Ringmaster stood alone at the heart of his stage with ivory skin almost luminescent under the spotlight. His audience gazed up at him in endless wonder, their faces reflecting the ethereal lights that twisted and pulsed at his command.

He was beautiful, he was powerful, he was–

A flicker disturbed the edge of his vision - shadows slipping through shadows. The silver filigree at his throat seemed to tighten and, for a heartbeat, the lights dimmed, casting the stage into near darkness. In the breath of shadow, he glimpsed threads of starlight descending from above; felt the phantom touch of something cold against his skin.

Then came the voice, sliding through his mind, honeyed and ancient, sweet as poisoned wine. The words themselves faded into the dark, but their essence lingered, reminiscent of promises forged in moonlight and bound in blood.

But the Ringmaster’s smile did not falter. It did not waver, even as those shadows moved closer, ever closer…

But then, suddenly, he awoke.

He gasped, his hand searching for his neck.

There it was, as always. That collar of silver filigree, beautiful and confining.

Reality bled back as the dark, shadowy remnants of his dream made way for the vivid colours of his tent.

Yet, within his mind, soft as silk, sharp as teeth, he still heard them, hooking beneath his skin.

Whispers.

Whispers…

It began with whispers.

Hushed voices carried on the evening breeze, tales of wonder and magic that danced through the village of Starfall like autumn leaves. The Festival of Fools was coming, they said. A carnival of dreams and wishes, of laughter and light.

Elysia Thorne paid the gossip little mind at first. Her world had shrunk to the confines of sickrooms, providing whatever healing comfort she could to her people. A hopeless endeavour - everyone knows that halting the Stone Curse is impossible once it takes hold. 

First, you notice your fingernails turning brittle, cracking like sun-baked clay. Then comes the hardening - a creeping sensation that begins at your fingertips, as if you've dipped them in cement that never quite dries.

The transformation is slow, methodical in its cruelty. Day by day, the stiffness crawls up your fingers, turning flesh to granite, joints to unyielding stone. Your hands become living sculptures, beautiful in their horror - each line and wrinkle preserved perfectly in stone, a monument to what was once warm and alive. The curse inches up your arms with inexorable patience, claiming territory finger by finger, joint by joint, until your limbs become too heavy to lift.

Some say the worst part is watching it spread across your chest, feeling your lungs strain against the weight of stone ribs. But Elysia knew, from countless deathbed vigils, that the true horror comes when the curse reaches your heart. She had held too many hands - some warm, some already stone - as that vital muscle struggled against its rocky prison, beat by weakening beat, until finally... silence.

Thus, the art of healing the Stone Curse, such as it was, lay not in false promises of cure but in small mercies. A salve to ease the grinding sensation in solidifying joints. Warm compresses to comfort flesh not yet turned to stone. And, perhaps most importantly, a gentle presence in those final moments when the heart begins its last, laboured beats against walls of granite.

That was Elysia’s true role, here in this quiet little village. A sanctity of calm, of empathy in the face of certain death.

Elysia had planted countless herb gardens, seeking new combinations that might slow the curse's advance. She had filled her medical journal with careful observations, tracking the curse's progress through generations. She had even learned to weave dried flowers into her patients' hair - a reminder that beauty could exist alongside suffering. But for all her knowledge, all her careful studies and gentle ministrations, she couldn't halt the curse's inexorable march toward the heart.

These days, Yenna's case consumed most of her attention. The girl was twelve - far too young to face such a fate, though Elysia had learned long ago that the curse cared nothing for age or circumstance. It had already claimed Yenna's mother three months past, leaving the girl in Elysia's care more often than not. The father, overwhelmed by grief and the demands of a dying child, rarely visited anymore. 

The curse would visit Elysia one day too. It was only a matter of time.

In her small sickroom, Yenna lay caught in the curse's embrace, her left arm now completely transformed. The stone had a peculiar beauty to it - smooth and grey as river rock, with veins of lighter crystal that caught the lamplight. If you didn't know better, you might think it an artist's masterpiece. But Elysia did know better. She saw how the crystalline patterns were creeping past the girl's shoulder, advancing with each passing day.

She had perhaps a month before the curse reached her heart - two, if they were fortunate.

Yet Yenna seemed to bear her fate with a grace that Elysia could scarcely fathom, delighting in the little things - in fairytales, in the company of others, in the flowers that had been carefully weaved into her hair.

"Tell me a story, Elysia," Yenna whispered, her voice as fragile as spun sugar. "Something happy."

Elysia's heart clenched, but she summoned a smile as bright and warm as summer sunshine.

"Once upon a time," she began, her voice soft, soothing as the breath of spring, "there was a beautiful nightingale with feathers as white as moonlight. But this nightingale had a terrible secret - it couldn't sing."

As she spoke, her hands worked with practiced grace, checking Yenna's pulse at her throat, adjusting pillows with the kind of gentle efficiency that came from years of tending to the cursed.

"The other birds mocked the nightingale, so it fled deeper and deeper into the forest, where the shadows grew thick and the moonlight barely touched the ground. There, it met a fox who offered to teach it a new kind of song - one that would make others marvel, one that would make them stare in wonder. The nightingale, desperate to belong, accepted."

Her fingers worked methodically as she spoke, applying fresh herbs to the boundary where flesh met stone.

"Its new song was beautiful, but strange - not quite natural, yet enchanting all the same. Other creatures came from far and wide to hear it, never knowing the price of such beauty. Night after night the nightingale sang, its voice growing more captivating, more otherworldly, until even the stars seemed to pause in their dance to listen."

She smiled softly, tucking a strand of Yenna's hair behind her ear, careful to avoid the grey patches beginning to show at her temples.

"One night, a kind traveler heard the nightingale's song. But while others were entranced by its haunting melody, the traveler heard something else - a loneliness beneath the beauty, a yearning for something real. With patience, the traveler showed the nightingale that its worth wasn't in any song, borrowed or natural, but in its spirit.

"Slowly, the nightingale found its own voice - softer than its enchanted song, perhaps, but true. And though some missed its otherworldly melodies, others were drawn to this new sound - one of resilience and hope. The forest, once so dark and lonely, became a place of honest beauty.

"And so, the nightingale learned that sometimes our greatest weaknesses can become our greatest strengths, if only we're brave enough to be true to ourselves."

Yenna's eyes, heavy with sleep, fluttered closed. A soft smile played on her lips as she drifted off, the story's gentle magic working its spell.

It was a fairytale she had told many others, and would do so again, granting a moment of reprieve to those for whom hope had faded like ink in water. But the whisper of hope in her own heart refused to be silenced. There had to be something more she could offer, some way to break this curse that had haunted her people for generations.

As if in answer to her unspoken plea, the wind outside began to change. Yes, there was something new on the breeze - the faint tinkling of bells, the creak of wheels, and... music?

She couldn't deny her curiosity.

As Elysia drew closer to the window, she saw something that made her breath catch.

A carriage unlike any she had ever seen rolled into the village square, wheels turning with an otherworldly grace that seemed to defy the rutted earth beneath them. It seemed a masterwork of impossible architecture - wood carved into flowing curves, painted with deep purples and midnight blues that shifted like oil on water. Golden filigree traced patterns across its surface, forming images that Elysia could have sworn moved when caught in the corner of her eye - acrobats frozen mid-leap, mystical beasts with jewelled eyes, masked figures dancing eternally.

Lanterns swayed from the carriage’s eaves, casting an otherworldly glow, lighting the way for the four horses that pull it. At first glance, they appeared to be made of living shadow, black coats seeming to absorb all light that touched them.

Atop this magnificent conveyance stood a figure dressed in a riot of blues and golds. A gold half-mask, matching his blonde, perfectly permed hair, obscured the upper half of his face, leaving visible only a pair of startlingly intense eyes and a practised smile. When he spoke, his voice carried across the square with an unnatural clarity - projected, maybe, to reach every ear in the village.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed citizens of Starfall!” The man swept his arms wide, rings glinting on his gloved fingers. “I am Petras - herald of wonders and marvels beyond your wildest dreams!”

Elysia watched as curious faces, young and old, peeked out their doors and windows to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. Others were bold enough to approach the stranger, drawn to him like moths to a particularly enchanting flame.

“Behold!” Petras continued, his gestures grand and sweeping. “The Festival of Fools approaches - a carnival of wonders where the impossible bows to your imagination, where a realm of dreams and magic awaits, only a tenday’s travel away!” His smile widened, showing teeth that gleamed perhaps a touch too bright. “And where wishes might just come true for those brave enough - or desperate enough - to seize their chance.”

Wishes coming true… Elysia had heard rumours of the festival’s magic. But to see this otherworldly spectacle before her eyes… The very air around the carriage and its herald seemed to shimmer around them, as if reality itself knew this creation didn't quite belong in the waking world.

It couldn't be real…

Could it?

"Elysia." Jenevelle's voice cut through her wonder, sharp and practical as ever. "Whatever you're thinking, stop."

Elysia turned to find her fellow healer standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Where Elysia favoured flowing dresses and dried flowers, Jenevelle preferred practical robes in dark colours, her silver hair pulled back severely from her face. They were as different as summer and winter, yet somehow had forged an effective partnership in their shared calling.

"You haven't even heard what I'm thinking," Elysia said, though a smile tugged at her lips. It was an old dance between them - Elysia's hope and Jenevelle's scepticism, constantly at odds yet somehow balancing each other.

"I don't need to," Jenevelle moved to check on Yenna's sleeping form. "That look in your eyes says enough. And before you ask - no, I don't believe in magical festivals that grant wishes. Neither should you."

The crowd gathering in the square didn't share Jenevelle's doubts. They pressed closer as Petras continued his performance, his gestures grand and sweeping.

Elysia found herself leaning further out the window, her heart quickening. There was something in Petras’s voice - something that spoke to the ache of hope she'd carried for so long for her people.

“But how?” called a voice from the crowd. “A tenday’s travel, right as winter approaches. It's impossible.”

Petras’s laugh rang out like silver bells. “Ah, but that's the beauty of it!” With a flourish, he gestured to the carriage below. “This magnificent conveyance doesn't merely transport - it transcends! Space itself bends to its will. It will carry the worthy directly to the festival’s gates.”

The side of the carriage unfolded like a blooming flower, revealing the plush velvet seats within.

“But choose quickly, my friends,” he continued. “For the Festival of Fools is as fleeting as starlight, and far more precious. Miss your chance, and you may wait lifetimes before it graces your humble shores again.”

Elysia's hands curled against the windowsill. Hope, that dangerous flower she thought she'd learned to uproot, bloomed fresh in her chest. "What if it's real, Jen? What if there's a chance to break the curse?"

"And what of your patients while you chase fairy tales?" Jenevelle's voice was sharp, but her eyes were concerned when they met Elysia's. "What of Yenna?"

"You could tend to them," Elysia said softly. "You're as skilled a healer as I am."

" More skilled," Jenevelle corrected, with a touch of her usual dry humour. "I don't waste time weaving flowers into their hair."

Elysia turned to face Jenevelle fully. "We both know our treatments only ease their passing. The curse continues to spread, and nothing we do can stop it. I have to try. Even if it's just a chance, the smallest possibility... don't our people deserve that?"

Jenevelle was quiet for a long moment, studying Elysia with those sharp green eyes that seemed to see through all pretence. 

Finally, she sighed. 

"You're going regardless of what I say, aren't you?"

"Yes," Elysia admitted.

"Then at least let me help you prepare." Jenevelle moved to Elysia's workbench, gathering supplies with practised efficiency. "Take your medical journal. Your grey cloak - it's getting cold at night. And for gods' sake, try not to trust everyone who smiles at you."

Elysia felt her heart swell. "Thank you, Jen."

"Don't thank me yet," she replied. "Just... come back. These people need their gentle healer." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "I'm not very good at telling stories."

Outside, Petras's voice rose in a final call. "Time grows short! Who among you dares to chase their dreams?"

Elysia quickly gathered her supplies, tucking them into her pack. She paused at Yenna's bedside, pressing a kiss to the sleeping girl's forehead.

"Go," Jenevelle said quietly. "Before I remember my common sense and try to stop you."

With one last look at her sleeping patient and her friend, Elysia slipped out into the night.

The air was thick with possibility and the sweet scent of hope - dangerous, and intoxicating as wine.

The crowd had thinned somewhat when Elysia approached the carriage. The hesitant had retreated to the safety of their homes, leaving only those whose desperation or curiosity outweighed their fear. The shadow-horses turned their luminous silver eyes toward her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. Up close, she could see the way starlight shifted beneath their dark coats like veins of quicksilver.

Petras’s gaze settled on her with a calculating intensity. His smile softened, but something in his eyes remained sharp, assessing. He leaned forward, his voice dropping just low enough to draw her attention.

“Ah, another brave soul,” he said, the words honeyed but with a curious weight. He extended a gloved hand, as though welcoming her, yet there was an air of expectation behind it, an unspoken challenge.

“Step right up, my dear. Adventure awaits.” He held her gaze, then tilted his head. “But tell me, citizen of Starfall… What makes you wish to dance with fate?”

Elysia felt a chill, as though he had peeled back some layer of her heart to glimpse the wound within. “My people suffer from a curse,” she replied, lifting her chin. “If there is a chance I could find a cure, I would be a fool not to take it.”

Petras’s eyes gleamed, his smile widening. “Ah, a noble reason indeed. A healer’s heart, so quick to offer itself up for others.” He paused, his fingers tapping lightly against his chin. “But what of the risk? What if the price were steep, dear healer? What would you be willing to pay to end their suffering?”

The question echoed through her, stirring the depths of her own doubt. What would she sacrifice if it came down to it? Her life, her freedom? Or perhaps something else, something more intangible? 

She met his gaze, her voice unwavering. “Whatever it takes. I’ll pay it.”

Petras’s smile took on a strange satisfaction. “Good,” he said. “Then you are worthy indeed.” He reached out and grasped her hand, leading her to the carriage. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as though he were imprinting something unseen upon her.

“Come along, then,” he said, gesturing to the open carriage door with a flourish. “The Festival awaits, and the path to wonder is short for those who are ready to leave the known world behind.”

Five others had already claimed their seats in the carriage's velvet interior. Her healer's eye catalogued them automatically: a merchant whose fingers wouldn't stop counting invisible coins, nervous energy radiating from his thin frame; an elderly woman clutching a locket, her fingers twisted with age and arthritis; a young couple holding hands so tightly their knuckles had gone white, both bearing the telltale grey pallor of the stone curse's early stages. And a boy who couldn't have seen more than sixteen summers, his eyes bright with dreams of escape.

As Elysia settled onto the plush velvet, she found herself studying their faces more closely. How many were running toward something, and how many running away? How many carried wishes as desperate as her own?

The door swung closed with a deep, resonant sound - like the sealing of fate itself. 

And then, the world… shifted.

Colours blurred and bled into one another like wet paint, spilling from the edges of reality. The familiar sounds of the village - cricket songs, the faint bleat of distant sheep, the warm crackle of hearth fires - stretched and warped into something altogether unfamiliar, as if someone had pulled them apart like threads and woven them into a new, strange tapestry. Elysia’s stomach gave a lurch as reality folded around her, shifting in ways her senses couldn’t comprehend.

It was like being unmade and then reassembled in the space between breaths. Light fractured into ribbons of shimmering colour, winding around the carriage in a dance of prismatic splendour. Time lost all meaning; they could have been travelling for seconds or centuries.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, it stopped.

The door swung open to reveal a transformed world. Where once there had been the familiar, earthy confines of the village square, there now sprawled a fantastical landscape, too rich and strange for words, its beauty as alluring as it was unnerving.

The Festival of Fools stretched before them, a labyrinth of wonder that defied earthly architecture. 

And it was beyond anything Elysia could have dreamed.

Tents of midnight blue and deep crimson reached toward a sky caught in eternal twilight. Banners of silk and starlight rippled in the breeze, while lanterns of every hue bobbed and swayed overhead, their light catching on gilt edges and crystal chimes.

Elysia blinked, her gaze shifting to her fellow passengers as they tumbled out of the carriage, each one wearing a dazed expression. As dazed as she felt. She hesitated, instinctively reaching out to the elderly woman beside her - but her companion barely seemed to see her, her gaze fixed on a nearby tent. The woman’s fingers twisted around her locket, her eyes shining with something distant, as if already lost to the promise of whatever marvel lay within.

“Wait–” Elysia began. Her hand fell away as the merchant shuffled past her, eyes flickering to a tent entrance adorned with gleaming gold. Elysia opened her mouth to speak, but he had already drifted away, his body moving with a compulsion she could almost feel.

The young couple clung to each other, moving in perfect unison toward a stage where ethereal figures danced, their feet floating above the ground, defying gravity with languid grace. Their eyes sparkled with something strange and fierce, their fingers woven so tightly together that Elysia doubted she could have separated them even if she’d tried.

And the boy - the boy with his fierce, bright gaze - paused only briefly, sparing her a glance that was both curious and determined. Elysia raised a hand to him, but before she could even form a greeting, he turned toward a pavilion wreathed in veils of light, vanishing into the crowd with the others.

It was as if the festival itself had taken hold of them, plucking them away like petals from a flower and scattering them to its far corners. 

And so she stood. Alone.

The air buzzed with magic, thick and tangible, and Elysia felt it tugging at her too, inviting her to drift into its embrace, to forget herself in the allure of it all.

No, she thought, shaking her head. You’re here for a reason. Stay focused.

Her fingers brushed against the medical journal tucked safely in her pack - a small, grounding reminder of reality and purpose in this world that felt more like a waking dream.

With thoughts of her people, pained, with hearts pounding frantically against stone prisons strong in her mind, her resolve was surely immovable.

This was it now. No going back.

She took a deep breath, inhaling frosty air which carried the scent of mulled wine and honey, and took her first, tentative steps.

It was impossible not to stare in awe at all that surrounded her.

The festival sprawled in every direction, paths twisting and turning. Music wove through the air, sometimes near, sometimes far, always just familiar enough to be enticing. Each route beckoned with its own marvels - a path strewn with flowers that bloomed and wilted in heartbeats, another where the very ground rippled like water beneath her feet.

As she wandered, her trained eye couldn’t help but catalogue the details around her. Performers moved through the crowd with an otherworldly grace that was almost painful in its perfection, their bodies bending and twisting as if the bones within them were liquid: jugglers, acrobats, wandering magicians. Vendors offered sweets that sparkled like jewels and steamed with impossible colours.

Every sight, every sound, every scent seemed designed to overwhelm the senses, to make one forget the world beyond the festival's borders.

That's when she heard it - a voice that seemed to command the very air itself, echoing from the grandest tent she had ever seen. The Big Top stood at what seemed to be the heart of the festival, its peaks disappearing into the twilight sky.

The pull of that voice was irresistible. Elysia found her feet carrying her toward the Big Top of their own accord, drawn like a moth to flame. As she drew closer, the distinct sound of music grew stronger, wrapping around her like silk.

Elysia pushed through the velvet curtains that concealed the entrance.

And gasped.

Inside, row upon row of plush velvet seats surrounded a central stage, each filled to the brim with spectators who sat unnaturally still, their eyes fixed forward with an intensity that stirred something in Elysia's healer's instincts.

But it was the figure commanding the stage that truly stole her breath.

He moved with a grace that transcended mere performance, each gesture flowing into the next as though his very presence were an intricate, endless dance. His coat was black as a starless night, its fabric embroidered with shifting silver constellations that seemed to breathe with the light, stars woven into darkness. Beneath it, a deep crimson vest clung to his form, its subtle gleam catching the lantern glow like the first blush of dawn against shadowed cliffs. In his hand was a cane - a slender, polished rod of black wood that absorbed light, crowned with a silver star cradled within a crescent moon.

Around his throat, a high collar of delicate silver filigree encircled his neck, as beautiful as it was constrictive, its pattern like that of a spider’s web. His face was partly obscured by a half-mask of lace, its delicate, web-like design mirroring that of the collar, with tiny, glinting gems that sparkled like trapped stars. The mask framed his features, giving the sharp lines of his jaw and the hint of a smirk a more dangerous appeal.

But his eyes...

Gods, those eyes.

They glowed a fierce, unnatural red, like rubies held to candlelight, gleaming with a mix of mischief and promise. They swept across the crowd, capturing the gaze of every watcher with an intensity that bordered on hypnotic. 

And when they locked with hers, everything else faded into silence.

Time seemed to stop.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" His voice was like the richest of velvets. "Tonight, we transcend the mundane, we breach the veil between reality and dreams. But for our next performance..." His eyes remained fixed on Elysia, a smile curving his lips, "I require a volunteer."

Goosebumps flared across her skin.

His hand extended toward her, pale and elegant. "You there, my dear. Won't you join us?"

The invitation hung in the air like a challenge, but Elysia’s body had already betrayed her, rising before her mind could form a protest. The crowd seemed to melt away as she walked, her limbs light and unsteady, as though the air itself was enchanted. 

In this moment, it felt as though there was no applause, no noise - just the sound of her heart pounding in her chest and the soft, rhythmic pulse of the festival’s music humming through her bones. 

Up close… gods, he was beautiful. Beautiful in an ethereal sort of way that Elysia had never encountered: skin pale as moonlight, hair a shock of white.

But then he smiled, and his teeth… she could have sworn they seemed just a touch too sharp.

This man - this creature - radiated danger beneath his beauty, like poisonous flowers that tempt with their colours before they kill. 

Yet she had come too far to retreat now.

"And what's your name, darling?" he asked, his voice pitched for her ears alone despite the crowded tent. 

"Elysia," she managed, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. Years of maintaining calm at sickbeds served her well now, it would seem. "Elysia Thorne."

"Elysia," he repeated, as though tasting each syllable on his tongue. "I am Astarion, master of ceremonies and ringmaster of this humble circus." His head tilted slightly, studying her with those burning eyes. "Tell me, what brings a healer to our little festival of wonders?"

She started at that. "How did you-?"

"Your hands," he murmured, catching one of hers in his cool grasp. "They bear the telltale stains of medicinal herbs. And your eyes… they carry the weight of one who knows too much of suffering."

"My people are cursed," she said, lifting her chin. "They're turning to stone, and nothing I do can stop it. I've heard the festival can grant wishes."

A curious expression flickered in those crimson eyes before his smile widened, unreadable under that lace mask of his.

"Oh, you sweetheart." He turned to address the crowd, though his hand remained at the small of her back, cool even through the fabric of her dress. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have something special indeed. A healer seeking to cure the incurable! Shall we show her what wonders await?"

Before she could respond, Astarion raised his cane with a flourish.

The stage erupted into light at the sweep of his cane, a soft shimmer that expanded and enveloped the space. Elysia felt the magic in the air, delicate as a lover's touch, winding between her fingers and across her skin.

Shadows and starlight blurred into a living tapestry as a phantom beast took form - a tiger, its body composed of silk-like darkness threaded with starlight. Its stripes glowed silver, each muscle rippling with a sensual grace as it prowled a slow circle around her, leaving faint trails of light that faded like a sigh.

"Beautiful, isn’t she?" he murmured near her ear, his voice like a low hum in the dark. Elysia felt her skin flush under the intensity of his attention. The cane twirled through his fingers with effortless skill, the silver star at its tip casting prismatic glints that danced over her skin, each glimmer a soft, fleeting caress.

"But that’s only the beginning," he continued. "Tell me, my dear healer, do you trust me?”

The responsible answer would be no. The safe answer would be no. 

And yet…

"Yes," she breathed.

He smiled something sinful. 

“Excellent.” 

With a flick of his wrist, he lifted her, magic making her as light as a feather. The tiger moved beneath her, and without hesitation, she found herself seated astride its back, floating through a dream woven of starlight. It was cool beneath her, a sensation like silk winding over her legs, tangible yet ephemeral, like liquid moonlight.

“You see, ladies and gentlemen,” Astarion’s voice echoed across the tent, his tone honeyed, “true magic lies not in the illusion itself, but in making you forget it’s an illusion at all.”

He lifted her higher, and as her feet left the ground, the phantom tiger began to dissolve, breaking into threads of light. It shifted beneath her, its form disintegrating into long, silken ribbons that spiralled upward, wrapping around her wrists, her waist, her ankles. Elysia gasped as the cool, weightless strands slid over her skin, binding her gently, lifting her further into the air, until she was suspended like a marionette in a web of pure magic.

The ribbons caressed her, sliding over her bare arms, tracing her collarbone, winding around her waist with an intimate, knowing pressure. They didn’t restrict her - they cradled her, their touch both tender and possessive, as though Astarion’s magic were wrapping her in the embrace of his own hands. She felt the shimmer of starlight against her skin, cool as frost yet stirring a warmth deep within her.

"You see," Astarion murmured, his voice close, dangerously soft, “true magic lies in the transition - that delicious moment between reality and dream.”

He extended his hand toward her, and the ribbons of light responded, lowering her gently until her feet nearly touched the stage, held in that intoxicating moment just before she could ground herself. She floated there, caught between the air and his spell, as though she had been pulled into the space between breaths.

“The moment,” he continued, catching her hand and pulling her close, “when one can no longer tell where the performance ends…”

He spun her, the ribbons of light tightening as he did so, sliding across her shoulders, down her back, encircling her waist in soft, twisting knots that bound her body to his magic. 

She was lost in him, in the power that flowed from his touch, in the way the silken light wound around them both like a lover’s embrace.

Elysia’s heart pounded in time with the pulse of the festival. And Astarion - he was the centre of it all, the master of this world, his every movement deliberate, calculated. She could feel it: the weight of his control, the way he led her without question, without hesitation.

And so, they danced. Deeply, intensely. Every step, every movement, every brush of his fingers across her skin was a command she couldn’t ignore. The ribbons tightened around her as he led her in intricate steps, each turn leaving trails of silver light in the air, shimmering like scattered stars. She could feel the texture of the magic against her skin, smooth and cool as it pressed into her, guiding her in a rhythm as old as desire itself.

“You’re beautiful when you let go, darling” he whispered, his voice low, dangerous. “So few allow themselves to surrender to the festival.”

The magic, and this bizarre, enchanted dance, reached its crescendo. Phantom stars whirled around them in dizzying spirals. The very air seemed to sing with power. And then...

He pulled her close, one final spin that ended with her dipped low in his arms. Their faces were inches apart, his cool breath mingling with her heavy breathing. The world beyond them had dissolved into a shower of starlight.

Time seemed suspended. Elysia could feel her heart pounding against her ribs, could see her own reflection in Astarion's eyes. 

There was something she was supposed to remember, something important...

But it slipped away like smoke through her fingers. How could anything matter more than this moment, this magic, this man who held her as if she were something precious and dangerous all at once?

Remember …

Remember? Remember what?

Her heart beat wildly under the allure of his gaze, his power.

... Why am I here again?

No Pressure Tag List: @roguishcat @davenswitcher @silverfangmarks @sparrowbard @chonkercatto @stokzr @trafalgarussy @asterordinary

Masterlist can be found here!

[sakiofwaterdeep]

(lowercase intended - tw: hints to abuse)

majority of the time when astarion gets all sassy and snappy, you ignore his remarks and his words, letting him have his drama and get it out of him. but sometimes, he can go far - too far. "astarion, im sorry i was just trying to help-"

it's evening at camp, and it's been a long day. exploring from where the goblins are you had come across a swamp in which there was a gur. astarion dealt with him of course but he'd been an absolute grump ever since then.

"Oh of course! It's always the same, you trying to help and be some hero - some sort of legendary tale in the making!" he snaps at you, turning to face you as the two of you stood by his tent.

"i'm not trying to upset you Astarion-"

"Oh, hells! give it over already! Acting like you're a saint-"

"im sorry, alright-"

"You're sorry? for what?" he stares you dead in the eye, a look you haven't seen on him yet, his eyes bore into you, almost cowering over you.

"for the monster hunter, i understand-" he's not letting you finish your sentences and it's getting too frustating.

"you understand now do you? You haven't lived for years and years in absolute pure shit - how in the hells could you ever understand?! You are nothing but- but a small pathetic wannabe saviour-" he's breathing heavy, and there's fire in his eyes but the stern look on his face stirs ever so slightly upon seeing the way you're looking at him right now. almost scared of him, tears brimming in your eyes. "you. know. nothing" you spit at him through a whisper before turning hot on your heel and storming away through the camp. all eyes are now on astarion, shadowheart and gale looking up from their books, glaring at astarion having heard everything. lae'zel pretending to not have heard whilst karlach and wyll are both looking a bit worriedly in the direction you left.

astarion just looks down, ignoring everyone and going back into his tent.

a few hours pass and others are asleep, but both you and astarion aren't. he finally gets the courage to find you, to which he does, not far from camp, sitting on the edge of a cliff rock, feet dangling, staring straight ahead - with tear stained cheeks.

"...may i?" your head snaps to astarion, and you quickly look away again, shrugging but moving slightly for him. he gingerly sits down next to you with a sigh, "darling, i-"

"you know i thought about what you said and yes, you lived through so much horror for almost 200 years but that doesn't mean that i didn't suffer" you say quietly with a big breath, eyes staring straight ahead, hands in your laps. the words rolled off your tongue quickly, like you'd been practising what to say for the past few hours.

"i know" astarion replies, pausing for a few moments, looking at you but you still looking away from him, "I think i got scared"

his words cause you to finally look at him, a bit confused, "scared?" you repeat, eyes a little furrowed. astarion can now see your red, almost swollen eyes from crying, you feel a bit embarrassed noticing his eyes flicker.

"yes, scared" he nods slowly and breathes out, his knee up - wavering at little, hands resting behind him resting on the rock, "i haven't had anyone care about me the way you did back there with that wretched gur. no one has stood up for me like that in well...years...maybe not ever. I didn't know how to react and now, i realise that perhaps maybe I didn't react correctly"

you raise your eyebrow at him, making a small face when he mentions 'maybe' but it is a fact that he reacted the way he did.

"okay, I didn't react correctly" he corrects himself, he's silent for a second, looking away and then looking toward you, his face softer than you'd probably ever seen it, "I'm sorry"

not once have you ever heard those two words slip out of his mouth before, you're not sure if he even had the ability to say them but he does, and his eyes repeat the meaning. you pause, nodding slowly, looking away for a few moments, "thank you"

the minute or so of silence that follows is comfortable, until astarion reaches over to the bottle of wine that sits next to you and takes a sip, quickly pulling a face. "gods, this is awful! remind me to never let you chose our drinks ever again"

you let out a small chuckle, "im sorry not all of us have such a refined rich palate. i just drink anything"

"yes, darling, i can tell" astarion replies, still drinking the wine he'd complained about seconds ago, nudging you with his shoulder lightly.

"such a dick" you laugh lightly, obviously joking, causing astarion to look amused in response.

and that's the night astarion goes to bed and realises that you're not like the others, you're not like cazador, you're certainly not out to get him - you actually care. and oh gods, maybe he cares for you in a different way.

[wolfinagg]

Powerful vampire in the Realms

[icephoenixcom]

Wait for it... (animation) Day 30: Companionship

[dark-and-kawaii]

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ The Vampire Lord

─ Content: NSFW - Riding The Vampire - Creampie - Chained - Use Of Bunny Petname - Blood - Biting - Sucking Blood - Kissing - Cervix Pounding

─ Notes: Happy Halloween ♡!!! The perfect day to post about fucking and being fucked by a vampire named Cazador ♡ ♡ ♡ Thanks to a dear friend, @halsinningiswinning for being a monster fucker with me and fueling me to continue writing for these baddies!

He likes to act so bad, like a big bad wolf, but behind closed doors, no one would ever guess the vampire lord could be such a pillow princess.

Cazador looked so pretty like this, his arms bound to his bed by the shiniest of silver chains, his wrists slightly aflame and above his head, his body bare and covered in sweat… His pale skin -your finger traces a heart shape across where his heart should beat- flushed the cutest of pinks as you bounce on his cock like the good little bunny you are.

Your slick drooling down his shaft, coating his smooth balls and the insides of his thighs. The vampire softly moans, his eyes shut tight, lips parted, a blush darkening his cheeks. You love it when you duck after he feeds ~ it gives him such a cute hue. His long, dark lashes flutter with every delightful bounce. He almost looks like a porcelain doll.

“S-o so handsome l-ah~ like this~♡, my pretty little master~ ♡. Le-letting nngh~ me use your cock all I- I want~” you whine, hands gripping onto his stomach, “you really are a good little lord~ ♡.”

The vampire shudders, his back arching, his chest rising, all of it causing his wrists to painfully pull against the chains.

The burning sensation that comes with them doesn't help either. It's like being lit on fire, like his wrists were being pressed to hot coals. The heat was so much, and his sensitive skin felt like it was going to melt right off. Cazador groans into the gag that were your laced panties. His teeth biting down harshly, his fangs tearing at the material as a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face.

Licking your lips, you collapse forward, a hand pressing down on the silver chain that binds his wrist, the other tangling itself in the vampire's damp, silky black locks, and your lips dangerously close to those pearly white fangs.

“It's a- a real shame you can’t s’touch me, baby~ ♡,” you whisper- your cunt greedily devouring his cock, squeezing around him with a vice like grip, “fu~ You know, I was going to ride your pretty face-“ Your hips grind against his own, his tip prodding against that sensitive squishy spot that makes you see stars, “mnggh~~ let yo-you eat me out~ n’suck at ma~my clit until I came on- on- your tongue-“

He growls, his brows furrowing as he desperately bucks his hips up, his body jolting as you grind against his sensitivecock. His fangs dig deeper into the panties, a little tear in the lace as his growl vibrates in his throat…

You whimper, pulling away from him and sitting up straight. Biting your lower lip, you let your eyes trail down to where your bodies connect. Your cute cunt stretched around his girthy cock. Every time you lift up, your lips cling to his cock, sucking him back in once more, milking him, begging for his sweet, thick, seed.

You moan his name, his shaft twitching and throbbing inside you, making you moan his name again, and again. You can feel him, his length pulsing as his tip kisses your cervix, his precum mixing with your juices.

Cazador watches with heavy eyes as you ride him. His gaze follows the curve of your body, the sway of your breasts, and the way your pretty pussy takes his cock like it was meant to… His little bunny was the cutest.

He could watch you all day…

The way you moved was hypnotizing. Cazador loved to watch your body work him. How your thighs tremble, the muscles in your stomach contract, and the way your cunt quivers, desperately clinging to him, wanting more.

But then his gaze is drawn to your face, how you stare down at him like he was the most precious thing you've ever seen. Your plump lips spread into a wide smile, your eyes crinkle, and he could swear he saw pink hearts in those round orbs of yours.

Cazador groans, his chest rumbling, the sound vibrating deep within his throat.

The vampire lord wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through your soft locks, caress your cheek, and pull you in for a kiss. He wanted to feel your soft skin under his fingertips. Cazador wished he could touch you…

But then you're pulling the cloth from his mouth and crashing your lips against his.

His lips were cold. Like ice. But yours… yours were so warm, so soft.

Cazador didn’t waste a second, his tongue darts out, sliding between your lips, tasting every inch of you, desperate to taste your sweetness, to have a taste of something other than blood.

And you let him, until you’re pulling back for air- his sharp fangs scraping along your bottom lip, drawing a single drop of blood-

“Remove the chains.” He demands. His voice cold, sharp, and rough, like the edge of a dagger.

“As my lord wishes-~♡!” you say, giggling as you unchain him, the silver no longer burning his skin, though the wounds do still remain.

His arms immediately wrap around you, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of your hips, leaving bruises in their wake.

With one swift, brutal thrust, he's got your tongue lolling out like a bitch in heat.

The vampire lord wastes no time in setting a rough, brutal pace, fucking you as if his life depended on it. Your slick mixed with his precum spills out of your abused cunt with every thrust, soiling the sheets below.

You cry out, his name a chant, a prayer, and the nails of your right hand dig into his shoulder while the left claws at his chest, “C-Caz! Ah- Caz~ I-I'm gonna cum- ah~ I'm gonna-“

His hold on your hips tightens as he pounds into you, your slick squelching obscenely before one of his hands finds your soft breasts, kneading the flesh and twisting a pert nipple between his fingers.

You scream, his name, over and over, the knot in your belly tightening until it's too much.

And when you cum, Cazador sinks his teeth into the crook of your neck- his cock bottoming out as his hot cum spurts against the entrance to your womb. The lords hips stutter, his breath catching in his throat while his tongue laps up the sweet ambrosia. Your blood was hot, almost searing as it slid down his throat- moaning the sweetest of moans against your skin.

Your vision blurs, your limbs turning to jelly. You're not sure if it's from the orgasm or the blood loss.

Either way, you feel like putty in his hands…